


Candy Coatings

by tinseltown



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, buckynat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinseltown/pseuds/tinseltown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vending Machine Buckynat AU: "Tried to get the candy bar that didn't drop out of the vending machine and now my hand is stuck, can you help me out?" Natasha Romanoff is having a VERY bad day...until someone special comes to the rescue. Happy endings are so much sweeter when there's candy involved!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Coatings

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: "Tried to get the candy bar that didn't drop out of the vending machine and now my hand is stuck, can you help me out?" Buckynat AU. This is a one-shot. Yay, Buckynat! I felt like having a bit of fun with these two. ;) I own nothing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel comics, and no profit was made from this work.

Natasha Romanoff knew the day was going to get off to a bad start the second her eyes had opened. The lighting of her dorm room was all wrong. Normally when she woke up, her room was incredibly dark because it was still five a.m. Natasha liked to go work out every morning at five a.m. when the school gym was empty and nobody could bother her (meaning that no annoying guy could hit on her; Natasha had the misfortune of being pretty _and_ a redhead, meaning skeevy guys were always hitting on her). Her best friend Clint thought she was insane—but then, that was Clint and Natasha’s relationship in a nutshell. She was disciplined and principled. He was lazy and carefree, despite _somehow_ always getting better grades than Natasha (which pissed her off to no end).

But today the lighting in her room was a pale golden color. She sat up and her eyes flew to her alarm clock. _Shit!_ It was 7:45 a.m.! That meant that not only was she not going to get to work out today—something that would make her incredibly cranky for the rest of the day—but she was also going to be late for her eight a.m. calculus class!

“Barton! Move!” she hissed, kicking the lump at the foot of her bed. Clint rolled over sleepily but didn’t wake up. Of course he didn’t. His first class was at one p.m. He’d crashed here last night and watched re-runs of _The Bachelorette_ while Natasha wrote an essay on the themes of family in _The Brothers Karamazov_ (she’d ace the essay, she already knew it; she was Russian and all Russian families were the same: insane…in her opinion, anyway).

“Clint!” she hissed again. “Get up! You’re on my robe!”

“Nat, shut _up_ ,” her roommate, Sharon, groaned. Sharon was an army brat, just like Natasha, which was why they both got along so well—except early in the morning. Sharon had used her escape to college as a chance to _never_ wake up early ever again if she could help it. Natasha was just too used to waking up early to let go of it now. She liked the rigidity of her routine. It helped her feel grounded.

She finally gave up trying to wake Clint up and yanked the robe out from under him. She skipped past a bunch of girls in line for the showers, inciting much abuse towards her, and flew threw her morning routine: brushing her teeth, taking a three-minute shower, ripping on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt with some Converse, and yanking a brush through her shoulder-length wavy red hair. She grabbed her backpack and sprinted off to class, her stomach growling.

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter. Her professor was notorious for being strict about tardiness and as soon as she rushed in—twenty minutes late at this point—he _ahem_ ’d very loudly and said, “What time is it, Ms. Romanoff?”

Her heart sank but she sighed and said, “Eight-twenty…five.”

“And what time does class start?” he asked dryly.

“Eight,” she said grudgingly. The kids who weren’t asleep giggled quietly.

“Exactly,” he said serenely. “If you would like to learn, please be on time next time. As for today…” He gestured to the door.

She wanted to argue but she knew when she was defeated. So she nodded once and left, her expression like a stone. She didn’t want to walk all the way back to her dorm room and she had another class in the same building at nine-thirty so she decided to sit in the student lounge on the second floor and try to get organize herself. Her hair was still damp and messy, her stomach was grumbling, and she hadn’t even had time to properly organize her bag this morning.

She ran her mini-brush through her hair and straightened her sweatshirt out, already feeling tired because she hadn’t gotten to work out this morning. Then she went through her bag and organized it, making sure she had her notebook and folder for her next class. Then she flopped down on the sofa (trying hard not to think about what gross hanky-panky might have gone on on this sofa after hours; all college surfaces seemed really nasty when you _thought_ about it) and tried to quell the feeling of panic in her stomach.

The thing about Natasha was, she was a perfectionist and she also had major anxiety—but she never showed it. To start with, she was Russian and Russian parents were already hard enough on their kids as it was. Having known difficulty and hardship, Natasha had been forced to join gymnastics and ballet from a very young age and train in the wee hours of the morning for many grueling hours. Her parents then both got army jobs which caused them to travel around a lot. This meant Natasha knew a lot of languages, knew how to wake up very early, and was very disciplined—but she also had trouble opening up and making friends. What was the point, she’d always wondered, if you were just going to probably move away in a month or two? But then she’d gone away to college and for the first time in her life she’d stayed in the same place for longer than a few months. It had only taken her a few months before she met Clint at the gym and they’d been joined at the hip ever since. Sharon had slyly suggested a few times that Clint liked Natasha but Natasha knew for a _fact_ that Clint had a huge crush on a girl named Kate Bishop. He’d accidentally told Natasha one night after they’d drunk a little too much wine and now she wouldn’t stop teasing him every time the dark-haired girl showed up.

“What about _you_ , huh?” Clint kept asking. “Who do _you_ like?”

The truthful answer was…no one. Natasha hadn’t felt butterflies around any guy she’d met here yet, hadn’t met any guy she could have considered liking. All the guys seemed interested in playing beer pong and getting laid 24/7. No one seemed to have _any_ principles at all. Clint said she was too uptight but hey, a girl had to have some standards, right?

She sighed nervously and played with a strand of her red hair. Missing her class was making her anxious. Calculus wasn’t her best subject and missing one class felt like she was missing a whole semester of information. She would need to copy notes from someone in the class. She was mentally running through the people she knew in the class, trying to figure out who to text after class, when suddenly her stomach let out a horrifying, embarrassing growl.

She froze and looked up, making sure that no one was around. _Thank God._ No one had been witness to that. There was a vending machine in the corner and even though Natasha normally tried to stay away from these gross junk food snacks—she wasn’t gaining any weight on her fit and trim figure, thankyouverymuch—she had no choice now. There was no way in hell she was going to go to her next class on an empty stomach and she was way too tired to run to the cafeteria to buy a banana.

She only had a dollar in her wallet. Thanking god that she had _at least_ that one dollar, she pursed her pink lips and surveyed the selections, frowning. Chips…no way, way too greasy and salty for this early in the morning. Twinkies…she shuddered. When hell froze over. Her eyes fell on a Snickers bar and she shrugged, figuring it was the best option. She slid her dollar bill into the machine, pressed D5, watched the candy bar move forward—

And then nothing. The candy bar dangled off of the rack but its corner was snagged on something, preventing it from falling within Natasha’s reach. Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?” she muttered. She smacked the machine with her hands. “Come on! _Seriously_? Dammit!”

She pressed the return button on the machine to get her money back and try again—and nothing happened. She tried again and again, nothing happened. The machine had eaten her money…and all her hopes and dreams with it. She groaned and banged her forehead against the machine. Her last dollar was gone, she hadn’t gotten her candy bar, _and_ she was still starving. Opening one eye, she saw that the candy bar wasn’t dangling very far above the base of the machine.

_Could I…?_

She knew it was incredibly stupid—these machines were built to prevent this kind of thing, weren’t they?—but she slowly knelt and wiggled her arm in through the slot at the base of the machine, pushing past the flap. She lowered her butt to the floor and angled her arm upward, putting her shoulder and armpit in an awkward position, uselessly trying to grab the end of the candy bar…to no avail. _I should have known this plan was idiotic. I am not on my game today._ She slowly tried to pull her arm back out—

And it wouldn’t move. She tried to yank it back—and still it remained. Her sweatshirt had somehow snagged on something and _her arm was stuck._

“Shit!” she whispered. “Are you _kidding_ me?” She yanked her arm as hard as she could, screwing up her face against the awkward, painful position she was in—her cheek smashed against the machine, practically laying against the floor, the top of the flap cutting into her upper arm—but her arm wouldn’t move. It was totally stuck.

She immediately began using every swear word she knew until a steady stream of swears poured out of her mouth as she yanked and yanked and yanked—

“Need some help?”

She looked up at the voice above her and she couldn’t help it: her mouth fell open. Standing over her, with his hands in his hoodie pockets, grinned an incredibly attractive boy. He wore dark skinny jeans, a white t-shirt, and an oversized navy blue hoodie. Black Keds on his feet. He had dark slightly-wavy hair that hung to his shoulders, twinkling blue-green eyes, and some very attractive stubble. Despite his odd mixed metrosexual-slash-hipster-slash-emo look, he had the broad shoulders and powerful build of someone who worked out. Natasha could appreciate that. Hell, she could appreciate _all_ of him—

At some other time when she wasn’t currently laying on the ground with her stupid arm stuck in a vending machine.

She felt like her entire body was blushing and her face was burning. “Um…yeah,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant and feeling like she was failing entirely. “I…um…”

“Got yourself stuck in a bit of a situation, apparently,” he noted.

“Haha,” she said. “ _Very_ funny.” But her heart felt a little jumpy as she said it because she couldn’t help but like the way his lips quirked up at his own stupid joke. She liked people who laughed at their own jokes—being best friends with Clint for a year had taught her to appreciate that.

“So, uh, how did this”—he waved to the whole scene—“happen?”

“Um…” Natasha’s stomach chose that very awful moment to let out a loud growl. His eyes widened and she prayed to the heavens to smite her down at that very moment. Today was going from bad to worse very quickly. Not working out, being late, not getting her candy, getting her arm stuck—and now having this cute guy witness her total humiliation? What had she done to deserve this? Had it been kicking Clint this morning? _Because I totally vow to never, ever lay another hand on Clint again if whoever is listening could just kill me real quick—like a nice little heart attack or something—_

“I think I get it now,” he said, grinning.

Natasha’s fiery temper got the best of her then. Her cheeks blushing a hot pink, she snapped, “Okay, are you going to help me or just crack jokes? Because if it’s the latter, you can just piss—”

“You know,” he said casually, sitting down next to her suddenly, crossing his legs, “I’ve _never_ heard a college girl say the word ‘latter’ before?”

She frowned at him while still trying to surreptitiously yank her arm out of the vending machine. Damned thing. She was going to come back later tonight and destroy it with a hammer. She’d get Sharon and Clint drunk and they’d probably help her. After they stopped laughing at her, that was. “College _girl_?” Her tone was sharp.

He threw his hands up. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m being sexist, aren’t I? College guys _and_ girls. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone use that word properly before, out loud.”

“Fascinating,” she said, wincing at the flap seriously cutting into her arm now. The base of the slot was digging into her armpit as well and the awkward angle was seriously starting to make her arm and shoulder and side ache. “Instead of the English lesson, could you just…you know… _help_ me?”

His eyes gleamed as he said, “But then I wouldn’t be able to hold you captive and force you to listen to my corny jokes. You’d just run away from me and I’d never see you again.”

Natasha was no stranger to getting hit on and his flirting wasn’t even that hardcore—but she blushed anyway and her stomach did a strange flip-flop. She couldn’t help it. His teasing, deep voice, his long, dark hair, his broad shoulders…and yes, his stupid, corny jokes…she found herself incredibly attracted to him. If only _her arm wasn’t stuck inside a vending machine._

“Very funny,” she said, trying to act casual. “ _Please_ , for God’s sake, either help me get my arm out or call a custodian or something—before the eight a.m. classes end and people come in here and see me. Otherwise I’ll chew my own arm off first.”

His dark eyebrows flew up. “Dramatic. Are you feeling okay?”

“You mean aside from having my arm stuck in a vending machine?” she asked desperately.

“Yeah. You seem kind of high-strung.”

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. He was stalling for time and even though her arm hurt like hell and she was going to punch him when she got it free, it _was_ cute. She’d never had a guy pay attention to her like this before—normally they were saying sleazy things about her body or creepy things they’d heard that redheads liked. “Um, well, let’s see. I woke up late today so I didn’t get to work out. And so I didn’t have time to eat breakfast. And then I was late to my calculus class so my professor kicked me out. And then the vending machine didn’t give me my candy bar and then my arm got stuck in the vending machine because I decided to try and get my candy out like a total _moron_ and now there’s a cute guy who refuses—” She froze and immediately felt like dying. _Stupid Natasha! WHY did you say that?!_

He was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and Natasha felt so silly with embarrassment—God, Clint was going to have a field day with this later—that she reached out and smacked him with her free hand. “Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said but his grin only got wider.

She groaned and he suddenly leaned over her. She tensed up, worrying for a moment that he was going to try and make a move on her while her arm was still stuck, but no, all he did was grab her sleeve—the one attached to her stuck arm—and yank as hard as he could. She heard a ripping sound and suddenly her arm jerked free. She let out a hiss of pain but otherwise didn’t cry or show any dramatics. She rotated her arm a little, wincing, but determined it was okay. Her sleeved had been ripped to the elbow—well, there went her sweatshirt. She flexed her arm a little, trying to get rid of the ache in her arm, and jumped in alarm when the guy tapped her bicep and whistled. “Nice,” he said. “Clearly you don’t skip arm day.”

“There’s no such thing as arm day,” she said in a low voice but she smiled anyway. She was proud of her body, as toned and fit as it was, and why wouldn’t she be? She’d worked very hard to get as strong as she was, especially after the frail child she’d been.

“Well…um…” She rubbed the back of her neck and slowly stood up. “Thanks for saving me.” She let out a self-conscious laugh. “This’ll make a nice story to tell your friends, right?” She turned away to grab her backpack and hightail it out of here—preferably to a bathroom, where she could lament her idiocy in peace—and he suddenly grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Wait! You think I’m cute, don’t you?”

“No comment,” she said, trying to tug her arm away from him, but _damn_ , his grip was pretty strong. He was at least a head taller than her too. Her cheeks felt hot.

“I’m pretty sure I heard you call me cute,” he said. “And _I_ think you’re pretty cute too—you know, for a weirdo who gets her arm stuck in a vending machine.”

She couldn’t help it: she giggled. Yes, that was right. She, Natasha Romanoff, normally very reserved around guys, actually _giggled_ in front of this one guy. This one very cute, funny guy who seemed to have taken a strange special interest in her.

“I’m Bucky Barnes,” he told her. “You?”

“Natasha Romanoff,” she admitted. She couldn’t _not_ tell him her name now—and to be honest, she didn’t even really want to not tell him her name.

“I’m taking you out, Natasha,” he decided.

“I—you can’t just _tell_ me you’re taking me out!” she said, her jaw dropping. “What if I have a boyfriend?”

“Then he would have been here saving you instead of me,” he said smoothly. “Are you saying no to me taking you out?”

“I—” Her face felt hot but a tiny smile spread across her mouth. Her stomach felt tingly. “I guess not.”

“Good,” he said, grinning. “Besides, now that you’ve told me your name, it’s all over. I would’ve hunted you down and annoyed you till you said yes. Not that I was ever going to let you walk out of here without telling me your name.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she told him, quelling the urge to giggle again. What was about this boy—this Bucky Barnes—that was turning her into a giggling moron? Was this what _liking_ a guy actually felt like? Because she felt stupid but also wonderful, a bit like she was coated in a thin layer of tingly shimmer dust.

“Ridiculously _amazing_ at planning fun dates, yes,” he said, grinning. “Meet me here tonight at eight, Natasha Romanoff. I’m going to take you someplace special.” He began walking backwards away from her. “I gotta get to class. Try not to get your arm stuck anywhere else—or maybe do. Then I’ll get to save you again.” He winked and left the student lounge.

 _Thunk_. The Snickers bar suddenly dropped to the base of the vending machine and Natasha’s heart swelled like a balloon. She smiled to herself as she retrieved the blasted candy bar, feeling secretly very pleased. _Well, well_. Clint would laugh himself silly and Sharon would be ecstatic. It looked like the day was looking up after all.

That Snickers was the sweetest candy bar Natasha had ever tasted before.  


End file.
